


A Touch Of Magic

by BakerStTardis (Sokashi)



Category: Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Christmas, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-25
Updated: 2018-12-25
Packaged: 2019-09-27 11:03:00
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,104
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17160830
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sokashi/pseuds/BakerStTardis
Summary: Christmas can lead to a lot of things, especially when there's a touch of magic.





	A Touch Of Magic

**Author's Note:**

> I'm sorry it's not quite complete yet but I wanted to give you a least some of it today! Merry Christmas! A Winterlock exchange for @notjustamumj on tumblr

John walked the small shops hoping for something to catch his eye. He didn’t have too many people to shop the holidays for; Sherlock, Mrs. Hudson, his sister. None of them were difficult really; Sherlock was always surprisingly easy to please, the key was finding something unusual or unique or…odd. Second hand shops, street vendors, the odd novelty shop. Luckily it was also an easy way to waste an afternoon while Sherlock was off arguing with Mycroft about… John frowned to himself realizing that he actually hadn’t caught what the argument was about this time before he left. Could’ve been important. Lost spies. Government conspiracies. Or not. Sherlock not offering his brother tea. Which one ate the last of the chocolate biscuits…

Chuckling to himself John wandered through a dark store that looked half old book store, half Victorian London tourist trap. There were mannequins in the corners dressed in pieces of old frocks, stacks of handkerchiefs embroidered with Jane Austen quotes, a selection of top hats decorated in small delicate gears and long drooping feathers. John half thought Mrs. Hudson would enjoy one despite the protestations she’d no doubt make about the frivolity of it. He raised a hand, idly fingering a brilliant blue feather when something black and white behind all the color caught his eye.

Reaching past a rack of hats and hair pins John pulled out an oval pendant hanging on a hook by itself, half lost in the shadows. The starkness of the photo was what had caught his eye. The pendant was maybe two inches, the smoothed edges made of aged silver with a photo inside. He lifted it to the light and stared at the photo and felt a little breathless. It was Sherlock.

Well, obviously it wasn’t really.

The photo was old, grainy from age and the snow that was falling in it. A snow covered field, stretches of trees in the background and in the foreground two figures; one a galloping horse all movement and shadow kicking up snow in its wake and the other a tall man in a long black coat facing the horse, a figure of intense concentration, of unfaltering control despite the elements. Only John knew that stride, the movement of that coat. The shape of those shoulders and the sweep of that back. Despite the age, despite the distance, despite the fact that there was no way it was a photo of his flatmate.

John let out a breath feeling both slightly dazed and foolish. Of course it wasn’t Sherlock. There wasn’t even a face. It wasn’t in focus enough to see whether the dark head of hair was straight or the familiar rumpled curls. It was just an old piece of jewelry with an old photo in it. Still, there was something about it… John wrapped the long heavy chain-there was nothing delicate about the piece- around his fist and watched the pendant thump against his fingers. The back of it looked even older. Brown with something that might have been weathered flowers pressed together in the glass.

One silly hat, a box full of old medical tools (including a frightening array of vintage scopes for more places in the body than John was certain-even as a doctor- was needed)and an opera length cigarette holder in a filigree gold later, and John found himself watching the teenager at the front of the store drop the pendant rather too carelessly in the bag than he liked. He shouldn’t have bought it. It had cost more than he’d liked but he also couldn’t bring himself to leave it behind.

***

“You’re back.” The two words said exactly what Sherlock thought about John leaving him to Mycroft earlier.

Unapologetic, John grinned as he toed the door open and tried not to crush any of his bags on the way in. “So who won today?”

Sherlock snorted indelicately and kicked his feet out to flop back into his chair but didn’t respond. John’s smile widened a bit at the non answer as he turned to head up to his room and hide it. The bags rattled a bit as he set them down; there was no point in hiding presents from Sherlock once they were in the flat, but dug the pendant out of the bottom of one bag. It had been haphazardly wrapped in tissue paper and he unrolled it expecting a sudden pang of buyer’s remorse. Was already wondering if it was something Mrs. Hudson would like, but-no. It was still a breathtaking photo. Not just that it looked like Sherlock. The photo itself was just- striking, somehow.

_-tson! Do you see? Wa-_

Stomping footsteps made John jerk, realize he’d been staring at the necklace and- daydreaming? While Sherlock was having a strop downstairs, louder than normal without an audience. Blinking quickly, John rolled the chain up in his fist and shoved the piece of jewelry into his bedside drawer. It took an unsettling amount of will power to walk away from it and head downstairs. “Alright, Sherlock.” He said fondly. “I’m here. What do you need?” Sherlock made a disgusted noise and flopped onto the couch facing away from him. “Right. Chinese it is. And from the place I like not the one on the corner.” John said and didn’t let himself stare at the line of Sherlock’s back under the silk of his dressing gown.

Sherlock’s curls shivered in offended outrage, but he didn’t deign to answer and John figured it was good enough for now.

***  
_-atson…_

John twitched and grumbled in his sleep, rolling over and tugging the blankets up around his ears.

_-Watson…Watson!-_

“Shuddop Sherlock.” John mumbled into the pillow. “M’sleeping-” He rolled the other way and snuggled in deeper. It was chilly and if Sherlock woke Mrs. Hudson up with all his yelling-

_“Watson! Just look at him. Isn’t he a handsome thing!”_

_John smiled and stared at his friend, all darkness and shadow in his sweeping coat against the white snow instead of the fine black stallion running along the paddock. Truer words had never been spoken, he thought, watching Sherlock run through the snow alongside the fine beast, laughing with joy and glancing over his shoulder at John. He was…breathtaking. John took a breath and smiled back, easy in the quiet of the countryside and in the moment for once just…unafraid of what the other man might see._

_“I see, Holmes. Gorgeous.” He agreed, his voice full of all the warmth that filled his chest._

_Sherlock whistled sharply and the horse wheeled in place, running straight for them. John had ridden a few horses when it was necessary, especially in the army, but he was no country boy like Sherlock. The horse trotted close then head-butted the man’s chest hard enough to make Sherlock take a step back, laughing. The horse whinnied in response, tilting it’s head to the man’s caress. “You’d be wasted in town, though, wouldn’t you.” Sherlock told the creature as he stroked it’s long nose. “Wasting away in some stall. Breathing in the smog and muck. Not able to run…”_

_“And you’d be wasted in the country.” John said fondly to his friend, stepping closer._

_Sherlock looked up at him and John saw only those sharp pale eyes over the ebony of the horse. The look made him pause, not certain what emotion he was seeing, his hand half risen towards the horse’s mane. Then Sherlock shifted and the lines around his eyes appeared in his smile. “The country does have it’s benefits.” He said, his voice a low rumble now that they were close. John blinked, half frozen at the tone then Sherlock looked away, patting the horse with one gloved hand. “Would you like to take him for a ride?”_

_“Oh, no!” John laughed gently and took a step back when the horse tossed his head. “You’re the rider, not me, Holmes.” He smiled fondly at them both; a gorgeous pair._

_Sherlock made a thoughtful noise as he took the horse’s head and started to lead them back to the stables. “I have faith in you, Watson. You could be taught.” The utter confidence in his voice made John’s cheeks warm and he ducked his chin into his scarf, glad he could blame the warmth on the cold. They walked in companionable silence through the gently falling snow and John just wanted these moments to last forever. The unusually contented peace of his often troubled friend, the quiet companionship, the still quiet around them. It could’ve been just the two of them in the entire world and John, John couldn’t find much fault with that._

***  
John sat in his chair and stared at the reflection of Christmas lights in the window. Sherlock was pacing, pacing and talking, violin in hand although he had yet to play a note. John, though, was a million miles away. Or more precisely over a century away.

It hadn’t been a dream. It hadn’t.

That was him. Him and Sherlock over a hundred years in the past.

The pendant was resting on his chest beneath his jumper and vest. Leaving it in the drawer when he got dressed hadn’t been an option. And every now and then, in moments of such peaceful silence, he swore he could hear Sherlock’s voice. Not in the room with him but…elsewhere.

“You’re quiet today.” Sherlock said suddenly from the window, half turned in John’s direction. There was something in his face, something between concern and annoyance maybe. “Thinking a lot.”

John took a breath, shaking off his cloud of thoughts and smiled slightly. “Nothing important.” He answered and when Sherlock narrowed his eyes John laughed. “Something I couldn’t explain, that makes no sense.” Those were dangerous words to say around Sherlock and John knew it.

Only Sherlock just nodded looking thoughtful. “When you have eliminated the impossible, whatever remains, however improbable, must be the truth.”

John blinked, feeling like he was missing something. “You say that about cases.”

His friend shrugged slightly, turning back to the window. “It applies to all impossible things. Science. Mysteries. The full range of human emotions.” He smiled slightly. John could see it in the reflection of the window. Their eyes met and one of those moments happened between them. A stillness. A connection. John couldn’t breath and for a moment he thought Sherlock was going to say something.

_-do you think, Watson?-_

John jerked a little, jolted out of the connection and looked away, afraid of what Sherlock would see. His hand lifted to automatically touch the pendant but he stopped himself and made a fist instead, shoving out of his seat. “Tea?” He offered and didn’t think it was his imagination that Sherlock sounded slightly disappointed when he responded.

“Yes. Thank you.”

_The country house was more of a manor. A family home to a family that wasn’t quite titled but not far from it. John felt a little breathless as the carriage rolled to a stop in front of it. Holmes, snoring beside him in a long-limbed heap, didn’t stir. “Holmes.” He shook his friend and when that didn’t work, jostled him more roughly._

_“Watson.” Sherlock snorted awake, curls a tumbled mess and John felt his heart clench at the sight._

_“We’re here.” John said, staring ahead at the manor. “I always knew you were more aristocrat than you let on.”_

_Sherlock snorted inelegantly and sat upright, squinting at the building. “Luckily no one else is home at the moment. We should be left in peace for a while.”_

John blinked at the boiling kettle and shook his head as he moved to pour. Left in peace would be nice. He turned back towards his friend, all sweeping dramatics as he played, and wondered what it would be like just him and Sherlock alone at Christmas in the country. Had this Sherlock grown up like that? With horses and a manor and a house staff? John still didn’t know. The thought left a hollow feeling in his chest and this time he couldn’t resist reaching up to touch the pendant. It was cool and solid against his skin. He didn’t know what he’d expected. Moving across the room, he set the steeping tea next to Sherlock on the window and saw it was snowing. Faint little flakes floating through the grey foggy day. The violin suddenly changed to something light and dancing and John smiled. He could feel the chill off the window and the warmth off Sherlock’s body at his side. Neither moved away and John thought that maybe this could be enough.


End file.
